


The Fates

by skiiish367



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Hate Crimes, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Magic, Multi, Other, Screw Destiny, Self-Sacrifice, So much angst, Some Humor, The Fates - Freeform, Violence, but only for so long, ignorance is bliss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:57:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18016520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skiiish367/pseuds/skiiish367
Summary: Arthur's destiny is bound to Emrys, and Mordred's to Arthur's. If Emrys ceased to exist, than so would Mordred's destiny. To Merlin, it seemed to be the least problematic way to keep Arthur alive.





	1. Monster

He clenched his palms together feeling his fingers stick together, peeling them open and closed again and again and again. Felt the sweat dripping down from his forehead into the warmth of his hands as he tries to breathe. _In_ . He clenches his fists. _Out_ and he lets them open, releasing his pent up magic in a wistful blow.

It’s unseen, unfeasible by the ordinary kind. Emrys eased from his core, the tendril like wisps tangling themselves, twisting around in itself before easing engulfing the air around him. It meant no harm, but it served its purpose.

A threat. A warning. He protects this city, and if anyone wishes to harm it, they will be addressing to him. Not as Merlin, but as Emrys.

It’s faint, but he can see the young druid flinch. Mordred had felt it, and Merlin made sure he did. The other looked towards Merlin, smiling, but there was a small hint of betrayal in his eyes. It glazed above his eyes like a flicker before disappearing as the druid looked away, walking towards the once and future king.

He walked across the red carpet, sure to keep his chin down as he approached the throne, kneeling instantly. Merlin wondered if it were an act. It likely was. Why else would one bearing magic ever chose to serve the Pendragon bloodline?

Destiny had forced Merlin’s hand, maybe it would force Mordred’s too. But then again, destiny was nothing more than a cruel and unjust god playing its hand on some messed up story it had been writing. It was a sadistic and ruthless killer, taking more lives than Merlin had thought possible.

He figured it more evil than Uther himself. Had it ever occurred to the unordinary–the druids–that all their suffering, their tears, the blood spilled were all at the hands of the very thing they worshiped.

The fates.

And now, they would suffer again. They claim Arthur to be the king that would bring magic back, nourish Camelot from it’s fallen ashes, and bring the rise upon a new kingdom, and yet. Yet, they finalize his death before all of these could even occur.

A tragedy of the worst kind, and to unfold in none other than Mordred’s hands. He’s angry. Of course he’s angry. Mordred had not done anything yet, but Merlin knew he would. The fates would turn an innocent sorcerer into a cold-hearted murdered and Merlin wondered if it was more merciful to kill the druid before such a fate, or let him become the one to burn every kingdom man has built to the ground.

Maybe he should spare Mordred of his fate, put an end to this prophecy once and for all. But Merlin knows balance is everything. To take a life, another must be created. He’s refused to acknowledge Emrys for so long.

He’s lived as Merlin, but knows the moment he spills Mordred’s blood, Emrys will rise. Born from the very blood of an innocent, and the betrayal of one’s own kind. Emrys will become an evil this world was not ready for. One no one could come to defeat. One Merlin fears he, himself, would not be able to defeat.

But if Arthur dies, so does hope. The one thing humanity thrived on. He swallows, closing his eyes as Arthur places the sword on both sides of the druid’s shoulders, whispering the very words that would become his downfall.

_“Rise, Sir Mordred.”_

And Merlin’s heart drops. His magic faltering the slightest, as it wavered and hesitated, torn between two fates. Two tragedies. Biting his cursed tongue, he walks out from the corner of the room, disappearing around the door as he fled.

This choice is the one Merlin had spared Arthur from. Not telling him of his magic was so Arthur would never have to succumb to such a choice. Having to choose between his duty and his friend. Merlin spared him.

And now he wishes someone would do the same for him, but they can’t. Because despite his friends, despite the love he takes from those around him, he is alone.

Forever and _Always._

 

-o-

 

 _‘Emrys,’_ the voice whispers in his head.

Merlin ignores it. He is not Emrys. Not now, not ever. He is Merlin. The young clumsy boy from the countryside who accidentally became Arthur’s loyal manservant.

 _‘Emrys. Please.’_ The voice begs, but it is not calling to him. It is calling to the legendary figure from the stories and prophecies.

 _‘Never speak into my mind again,’_ he warns, hoping his cold demeanor would help the druid turn away but it seems the other does not understand.

 _‘Why? Why are you so cold to me?’_ Mordred’s voice is foreign, a strange violation Merlin cannot explain. Why is he so cold? He doesn’t know. It feels easier this way. Maybe if he simply kept his distance, it would make his choice easier. He does not know, but is willing to try. _‘We...we are the same Emrys. We understand each other.’_

_‘We are nothing alike, and do not think I do not know what you are here to do. I will never let you harm Arthur.’_

_‘Harm Arthur? Why wou–’_ and with that Merlin cuts off the connection. Maybe Mordred did not know of his destiny, but then again why would he?

Merlin sighed, returning to his room, and opening his books for another nights worth of research. He had to find a way to reverse the prophecy. A way to fight the fates. A way to twist the game to his means.

The fates wanted a game? _He’ll give them one._

 

-o-

 

“ _MERLIN!_ ” Arthur’s voice rings through his ears and he winces slightly.

“I’m _literally_ standing behind you. _Why_ are you yelling?” Merlin sighs at the immature behaviour. Their once and future king was nothing more than a child, and it raises a chuckle out of him.

“Why are you late?” the king crosses his arms from up on his horse. “You were supposed to meet me at daybreak.”

Right. That is true, however Merlin had fallen asleep, unaware of the time that had passed as he read through the tales of history, trying to find a way to reverse Arthur’s destined demise.

“I was...doing–uh..poetry!”

“Poetry?” Arthur deadpanned. “You mean to tell me you were late because you were doing.. _.poetry?_ ”

Merlin shrugged smiling sheepishly. He coughed softly, before leaning in as though to tell a secret. “Do not tell anyone what I am about to tell you sire, but Gweneviere had asked me to teach her some. Rumor has it that the king _loves_ poetry, and to impress you, she asked me to teach her some.”

Arthur froze, cheeks a rosy red, with a scowl on his face.

“Unless, of course, I could always tell her you don’t actually li–”

“–No! You won't say anything!” Arthur huffed

“Of course not, sire,” he bowed mockingly, and grinned up at his king. His mind lingers, wondering if today would be Arthur’s last.

“Well, get on that horse,” the blond man nodded to the horse waiting off on the side. The anime huffed, shaking slightly as Merlin climbing onto his back, and patted his mane softly.

“ _Thank you,_ ” he whispers to the brown animal, smiling softly. He understood what it was like to serve only one purpose. To help, and get back nothing. This horse may die today, and yet it followed his every command. Trusted his rider.

And they move, trotting their way through the thick woods.

It isn’t long before Merlin feels the forest watching him. Watching _them._ It isn’t Mordred. He knows because the boy was now pouting off by Arthur’s side, opting Gwaine’s company as a distraction.

Understandable. Gwaine is pretty distracting.

He’s been quiet. Silent most of the ride, and it seems now the forest was showing itself. Merlin leaned over, patting the horse, slowing down softly. He retreated back slowly, letting the other knights trott past him, as he shifted towards the shadows.

He watched from the back as they moved further and further away until the group was nothing more than a small speck in the distance, and as the road cleared, he rode off into the woods, trailing the eyes that had been watching him.

_Stalking him._

Calling out to him, not as a whisper in the mind, but a tug. A pull towards something he did not understand. Maybe it were the fates playing with him once again. Pushing him off to fulfill the unwanted destiny.

Maybe it was better not to follow, to retreat back to his group, but he stays–enchanted, spelled–stepping off the paved path and into the dark of the woods.

And he rides, the scenes around him vivid, twisting and turning as the horse continued deeper and deeper. Merlin wonders if this is his mind playing an unfair trick on his vision, because he can see Morgana looking up at him with hollow, poisoned eyes and Will’s cold body, which was too young to die. And he sees the faces of all those he let die, watched burn, felt the loss as their heads rolled on the soil of Camelot.

Too young, he thinks. They should’ve grown, laughed, married..had children and grandchildren. Should’ve been here to watch the world change, and bloom from its burnt ashes.

He gives them a look, before looking forward again, the trees winding themselves around his visions and everything is hazy. His memories playing out like a story he knows he’s read before. Each piece of him drawn out, calculated, portrayed in the dark before him, but he doesn’t question it.

Doesn’t bother to look behind at them, because they are not behind him. They are with him, there, stuck in his mind like a stain that wouldn’t remove itself, impossible to forget.

He swallows, tearing his eyes away and towards the path he was being pulled towards. He knows this is not him. He’s being pulled, drugged towards this stalker while the horse blindly follows Merlin's every order. But this is not Merlin in control.

Merlin knows, because he can no longer feel Mordred’s thread of connection. The one that wavered and begged for attention. He can’t open his mouth, only blink as they he sways deeper and deeper.

And the more time passes by, the more Merlin begins to wonder who it could be. Someone with the power to control and possess one's body. He wants to cry out, wants Arthur to know he’s missing, only to realize that would only put their lives at risk. And it is not as though Merlin hasn’t killed enough people.

His magic trembles, pounding from the inside of his body, tearing to get out. It’s gnawing and gnawing, angry at being contained, and as the first crack forms, Merlin gasps lurching over his horse.

“ _Lamia,_ ” he bites out in bitter realization, the fire raging in his eyes. The crack grows, the glass-like hold on his body shattering and crumbling to the ground. He pulls the strings to his horse, the anime coming to a stop as Merlin climbs down. “ _Show yourself._ ”

He remembers this kind. Back in the war with the Ancient Kings, the high priestess’ of the Old Religion had taken the blood of a girl, mingling it with that os a serpent, creating a creature beyond any man's horror. How foolish they had been. To create life meant to take life. They creates a creature that would take and take, never feeling satisfied.

 _‘I see that you are no normal man,’_ a voice hissed in his mind. It’s not Mordred, and how he wished it were. _‘Impressive.’_

Merlin grunted in annoyance. “I would say the same for you, but then I’d be lying.”

It seems to have angered the Lamia. Because now he can make out the snake like tale circling around in the thick of the woods. It’s scales were a dark green, blending nicely with the shrubs around him, only it had a rusty gleam to it.

He can hear the hissing as the creature circles closer, trapping Merlin and his horse in the middle.

“Who sent you?” he demands, watching the Lamia’s every move. The top human torso peered out from the trees, and crawled forward. It had long beautiful black hair, and a thin, feminine looking face. Made for alluring victims to it’s trap.

However, this was strange. Lamia’s did not come to the forest. Prefered the depths of the salt waters instead..so why? Why was this one here?

“Why is it you want to know?” the hybrid asks, peering up at Merlin through long lashes. It’s playing a game, but that’s alright. Merlin could play too. “Morgana sent me. She freed me, and in return asked for the servant’s life...a _small_ punishment to the king But she has failed to realize your true worth...”

“Let's play a game. You’ve been quite lonely, I...presume. Afterall, Uther Pendragon did slaughter most of you kind,” he speaks softly, careful not to agitate the creature any further.

The Lamia sneered, slithering off to the side. “Do not speak of that _demon’s_ name.”

“No no,” he raises his hands in surrender. “I won’t. You see, I hate him just as much as you.”

The Lamia hummed, twisting around him, the scales of its tale screeching and scraping against the rough floor. It’s movements were rough, jagged. It was not used to this environment, and that...that would be merlin’s advantage.

“Let us play your game, young _sorcerer,”_ it hissed. “But I make the rules. You are on my land.”

“I am no sorcerer, merely a servant and this is _not_ your land,” he declared. “It is Arthur’s. You do not belong here.”

“ _Arthur,”_ it hisses, the name dripping from it’s tongue like poison. Why do you serve a man who hates magic? When you yourself have so much potential without him. He is an anchor. Holding you down, keeping you from rising above the surface.”

“It is my destiny to protect him. I have faith in Arthur and he will bring magic back. It is my _fate_ to serve him.”

“You poor fool, men are monsters of their own fate. There are no gods. No higher powers. Just what we make of it. You pitiful creature.” It spoke, almost softly. Almost as though it had emotion, or felt what Merlin was going through, but he knew it was a trap. A lure to get him to succumb.

“I could say the same to you!” he snarled, feeling the anger now. “Where you not created by those high priestesses. By the gods, you refuse to acknowledge!”

“They were no gods. They create me, but I was my own. They did not choose my destiny, I chose. I chose this revenge, chose to let men perish for their sins, chose to tear their souls into pieces,” it sneered, face contorted in a false show of emotion.

“And look where that got you,” he whispered in trembling rage. The anger that grew with the lamia’s words. Lies. All lies. He knows it.

“Tell me Sorcerer. Who is it that told you of your destiny? Was it the gods that compelled you, or was it you...you manifested the prophecy into reality. You who brought your destiny to life. You, who brought rise to Arthur. You who killed Morgana. You who brought upon Arthur’s demise. You who carve your own tragedy. You blame the gods, yet it is _you_ who is the creator of your own fate.”

 _“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!_ ” Merlin screams, not wanting to believe the Lamia’s words. Itw as a creature of evil, or doom and demise. It held no emotions...no love. Only played games with his mind. “You lie! LIE _LIE!!_ ”

He growled, vision blurry with tears threatening to pour down his cheeks. “You lie...you lie...”

“You think you have no choice. You wish to kill the boy to save Arthur, yet you refuse to acknowledge that you are creating his destiny. _You are betraying your own kind!_ ”

 _“AND WHAT ABOUT YOU!_ ” he looked up angry. “You claim to choose, yet you chose to follow Morgana. You chose evil, but my fate is fixed. To Arthur. And you will not get in my way. Nor will Morgana. Nor will Mordred.”

“You will kill an innocent man. It is Arthur’s fate to die. If you claim you have no choice, why choose to kill the druid and destroy the prophecy. Is it not destiny to let Arthur die, so why are you defying destiny now?”

It made no sense. He and his gods were not wrong. They couldn’t be. He believed Kilgarah, but the Lamia was right. In an odd and twisted way, it gave Merlin hope. And although Merlin knows its a game, he wants to believe in this creature. Wants to believe it despite it’s wish to kill him. It wants him to feel hope, despair, and the moment he believes, it will strike. Purging his soul and taking it for its own. _For Morgana._

_“There is no fate.”_

And for a moment, everything goes quiet. He breathes out, feeling a sense of relief, but betrayal. The fates did not exist...but they had to. He breathed in and out. The Lamia grew, climbing from the ground and standing tall, it’s tail, wrapping Merlin inbetween, and Merlin finds he doesn’t mind.

It’s quiet, and oddly peaceful. He knows it is the Lamia’s work, but he doesn’t bother to fight back.

Maybe...maybe if Merlin ceased to exist, then Arthur’s destined death would fail. Maybe...maybe if this serpent's words were true.

His hands go limp by his side, and he closes his eyes ready to embrace death with open arms.

The Lamia shrieks, opening its jaw wide to swallow him whole, only the gnawing teeth never come down. Merlin gasps watching the gleaming sword slice through the Lamia’s head. And he sees blue.

He watches as the Lamia's head rolls down to his feet, it’s colourless eyes looking up at him, betrayed. He stumbles back slightly, feeling his head clear slightly as he looks up to the Lamia’s murderer.

“ _Emrys,_ ” the man snarls.

“Mordred.”

“You ignored me! I was calling out to you and you _rejected_ me!” the druid yells. “ _Why?!_ ”

“I..I didn–” Merlin tries, confused, his mind clearing up from it’s momentary haze. He looks at the ground eyes wide. He was about to accept death. He was going to embrace it with open arms...and the thought chilled him down to his core. “I..thank you.”

He decides it enough, but the druid looks nowhere near ready as enough. He has questions. Feels betrayed, wishes to know what he had done wrong, but as Merlin stared at the Lamia’s fallen body, he realized Mordred had done nothing at all.

He had done nothing wrong.

In an odd twisted sense of truth...he realized it had been him. Merlin who condemned Mordred for a prophecy that was yet to come true.

He smiles at the other, who looks surprised and it hurts Merlin. To know that he had caused someone to be hated simply due to some feeble words.

The other knights come tumbling out from the shrubs around him panting as though they had been running and searching all night long. Surely it could not have been that long, but it doesn’t take Merlin long before he fingers out hours have long passed.

Arthur looks enraged, almost as mad as Mordred, but unlike the druid, this anger is not for him. But for the crumpled carcase of the Lamia on the forest floor.

Blood smears across the forest floor, and he turns towards Mordred, who’s cheeks were soaked in the blood of his own kind. And Merlin cannot possibly foresee a future in which he kills Arthur.

With his sword dripping red and his chin raised in pride and victory, he looks no less than a murderer. But it is not for Arthur...not for Camelot. It is for the monster that threatened it. Merlin tries not to, knows it would be better if he did not believe, but he can’t help the Lamia’s words creep into his mind, slowly but surely taking over. And he can’t help but wonder...maybe. _.just maybe_...

 

_...Merlin was that monster._

 

 

 

 

 

**Note: For anyone who does not know what a lamia is. "In their war with the Ancient Kings, the High Priestesses of the Old Religion took the blood of a girl and mingled it with that of a serpent. The shape-shifting creatures they created were called Lamias and had fearsome powers. Lamias can control a man's mind and even suck the life from him with a single embrace." –**

**It can basically read a person's mind and control them. It's why Merlin felt so exposed and hazy with the meeting. He wanted to try and playa game to distract the Lamia, but it didn't work out for him. The only difference with my version is that she has the body of a** **serpent with the torso of a human. And she can read minds...cuz plot.**


	2. Dying never felt so alive.

Mordred wants answers. Arthur wants knowledge. And Merlin...Merlin _yearns_ for a moments worth of peace. He wants the violent roars in his mind to come to a stop, the Lamia’s words to slowly disappear away into the horizon, gone away with the wind.

But even the silence was loud. Gave his mind too much space. Too many words that were left unspoken. _Unsaid._

All of it was overwhelming. In a sense. The feeling of betrayal that he couldn’t shake. He was lying to Arthur, Gwen, Giaus, and everyone. He lied to Morgana, and now he's repeating the same mistake with Mordred.

But maybe...

Maybe the Lamia, although evil, may have been right. Maybe, the gods never truly existed, the old religion but a manifestation of the human kind to explain something they could not understand. In the end, he supposed it did not matter.

Whether it were true or not true, in the end, it is not as though the heavens would accept him either way. Nor the demons below or the angels below would open their arms for his soul were eternal. As eternal as Emrys.

He chuckles slightly at the irony of it all. His faith, the old religion, destiny...all of them. They were all ridiculous. In the end, he was immortal. Cursed to live forever at the expense of others. All in the name of restoring nature. One must take a life to bring birth to another.

And Merlin’s life would be born over and over and over again, killing far too many. But he never asked for life. Never asked for death, but once again he is given no choice.

It is evil. In a sense. This balance. Cruel, merciless, and _unforgiving._

So what if Merlin is cruel back. Defiant. Would it really make a difference? His existence itself is a crack in the balance of nature. Power. _Immortality._

It is a curse.

He feels Mordred calling out to him one again, but Merlin gives it no thought. He knows what he must do. No matter how painful, or how...tragic.

It’s simply another route to this foretold tragedy. Only this time, the reigns will be in his hand.

 

∞

 

“What was a serpent looking _monster_ doing in our woods?!” Arthur demands. He looks angry, sounds angry, but Merlin knows it’s fear.

“I do not know, Arthur,” he lies, the words rolling off his tongue smoothly with ease. “Did you not miss the part where _I almost died?!”_

“But you did not.”

“Exactly! I didn’t die. Me! _Merlin!”_ he drawls, emphasizes his name. “Didn’t die. Do you really believe a creature who could even complete the task of killing _me,_ of all people, pose a threat to the kingdom.”

“Task?” Arthur questions, narrowing his eyes. “Task to kill you? Now _Merlin_...why would anyone want or _need_ to kill you?”

Okay, so maybe Arthur was not as stupid as he looked. Merlin rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, you are actually a dollop-head.”

“I will have you know, I am not a–”

“Then maybe you should do some bloody research!” Merlin does not mean to get angry. But he is...just the slightest. “It was a Lamia. Once human, but now a simple creature whose only task and mindless goal is to kill.”

He breathes for a moment, trying to regain control of his anger.

“You know. You are a great king, Arthur,” Merlin continues. “I have no doubt of that. But you are also as blind as your father. You heed his teaching without ever questioning single word. Following like some dog following its master's orders.”

Arthur looks enraged, but could Merlin not care less. Let this be a lesson...a sort of integration to a new way of thinking. “I know I am a servant, but before that, I am your friend. And as a friend, I beg of you to try. Sure there is evil magic out there. There are more Lamia’s like the one in the forest out there. But can men not be just as cruel? Can the ordinary not be murderers or cruel tyrants? I know...I know what you're thinking right now.”

“Do tell! What am I thinking?” he sneers.

“That a _magical_ creature tried to kill me. But have humans not tried to kill me? Have your own people never tried to kill you? You are no tyrant, which is why I am not afraid to be open with you. Which is why I am _honored_ to serve you, but I believe you can be better. Greater than any king before you.”

Arthur is quiet, and Merlin continues. He needs Arthur to understand. To see things in a different light.

“I have books. Stories written by warriors and kings and peasants. History that dates back centuries. And it is _not_ what your father has told you. Your father–”

“Do not speak ill of my father!”

“ _Your father_ was too consumed by his grief and his hatred with the loss of his wife. He did not want his mistakes on his conscious so he turned to blame others. To those that did nothing but follow your father’s orders. To those that served him without a second thought. And he murdered them all. Women. Men. _Children._ All of them in cold blood.”

“That is...that is no–”

“You know as well as I do. So when you are done defying and turning a blind eye to the problem that really needs fixing. Come find me, and I will show you all those books. Journals. Letters. Everything. Until then, I’ll be waiting.”

And with that Merlin walks out the King’s chambers without a second glance back, and Arthur doesn’t dare stop him.

 

∞

 

“Emrys!”

“Do not...do not call me that,” Merlin hisses, spinning around to meet the raven. “ _You’ll get us both killed!”_

“You care if I die?” Mordred asks sheepishly, looking the slightest bit hopeful. “You do, don’t you?”

“Not necessarily,” he lies, the words slipping out his tongue with ease.  

The druid frowned, hardening his jaw a bit. Merlin can feel the anger. It’s small, but there. Demanding answers it does not understand. “Either way, I came to tell you that I think the Lamia was sent by Morgana. I think she knows that you are–”

“–She does not know. You have no need to worry,” he cut him off, turning to leave, but he doesn’t get far.

“ _You knew,_ ” he hears Mordred whisper, accusingly. “You knew she sent it and you _still_ did not tell me!”

“Why would I need to tell you?!” Merlin demands.

“Do you not trust me?! Is that it?!” he yells. “ _Why? We are the same Emr–”_

“I am not Emrys!” Merlin snaps. He doesn't want to be seen as Emrys. He’s Merlin. Merlin the _stupid_ servant, not some great old hero in the stories.

“But you are,” the raven bites. And for a moment, Merlin wonders if he, himself, is being as ignorant as Arthur. Turning a blind eye to the truth. But this was different. It had to be. “You are Emrys. Your destiny is connected to Arthur, and mine to his. I pledged my loyalty to Arthur, just as every other knight of the round table. Theirs, mine, hell even Morgana’s they are all _connected._ ”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, feeling the pressure building up in his chest again. He doesn’t want to be a part of this prophecy. It’s a tragedy. He wants to tell Mordred, he’ll be the one to kill the King. Wants to scream the truth, but knows better.

_“Don’t you see?”_ Mordred whispers, stepping closer. “Everyone’s destiny, their fate, are all connected. Like a small thread, a– _a chain_. When one falls, so do all the others. And that is why the balance is so important. It is what keeps everything in law to nature.”

The druid looks hopeful, his anger turning to a last pleading moment, and his words make sense. Bring a clarity to Merlin.

It made sense.

The fates, destinies, they were all connected. A series of connection, and balance. Balance was what kept them all together. He needed to break the balance. Knows killing Mordred is one way, but the more he stares at the pleading blue, he can’t seem to will himself to.

“I am not Emrys,” he whispers in realization. The blue turns bitter, and Mordred shakes his head.

“I don't know what I was thinking. Afterall,” he sneers, the bitterness rising like bile and this time Mordred doesn't do anything to stop it. “ _You wanted me dead_.”

And the raven walks away, not looking back.

Merlin had not meant it in the way the druid had taken it. He saw it as a sign of distrust, or rejection, but it was far from. Merlin supposed it doesn’t matter.

It’ll be better with Mordred hating him. Keeps the attention away, and with Arthur’s mind lost in Gwen, and the others on the coming war, it kept things simple.

They wouldn’t even notice and he could continue being the clueless, stupid little servant.

_‘I’m not Emrys,’_ he thinks. ‘ _Not for long.’_

 

∞

 

The world turns, and then it turns again. And again and again.. _and again._ It doesn’t stop, doesn’t wait for Merlin to catch up. Seems to mock him instead, moving a tad bit faster when it realizes Merlin was almost there.

And each time, he would run faster. Harder. Leaving all those he’s wronged behind as he desperately tries to reach the world, and the moment he thinks he’s there, it slips from his fingers.

Merlin’s tired and he keeps going.

Only this time he’s dug and uncovered the secret. He runs still, only this time, he scrambles back to where he came from. Back to the beginning of this ripple in time, back before the world allowed an impurity to stain it from within. An he leeches it out. Bends and twists and binds the magic until it’s lost and forever forgotten.

And he feels so _drained_. The power that once consumed him now gone, killed and tormented in the dead of night.

Merlin looks down on his trembling hands, and smiles. The deed is done and it’s too late to go back. Can’t give back the lives he’s taken and now his only solution is to take another. He breathes, feeling the weight lift off his suffocating chest, and he’s never felt this... _calm._

This sense of euphoria, blooming and pulsing through his veins like liquid fire. It burns, and Merlin has never felt more powerful. _And this is power_ , he thinks. He’s done what even Morgana failed to do. Played the fates at their own game. They gave him power, and now he’d be the very thing they gifted him to destroy itself. The life drains from Emrys' body, and suddenly Merlin _knows_ he is alive. 

And here in the dead of night, before the lady of the lake, Merlin murders Emrys. The legendary hero lost and forever forgotten within the tales of the fallen.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh...sorry for a the really late update. I was focusing on my studies cuz you know...grades dropping, but like...I made it up with my finals, so its all good now. Just have one more final left and then i'll be updating more often. This chapter is short, and more of like a...lead in to the next one, which I promise will be bigger. 
> 
> If the ending is confusing of this chapter....it's basically, Merlin getting rid of his own magic, because magic is what makes him Emrys. Is he has no magic, than he is no longer Emrys....yeah..
> 
>  
> 
> Welp...this chapter was kinda rushed, so if you see any mistakes or if there is something you think is confusing, pls let me know!! Both criticism and suggestion for the plot are welcome!!
> 
> Yup..thats all. Enjoy! And let me know what ya'll think~~

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Merlin fan fiction, and yeah. If you see a mistake or if there was anything that did not make sense, please don't hesitate to let me know in the comments below. Both criticism and suggestions for the plot are welcome!  
> Thank you and I hope you enjoyed it!


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